


Rude Awakenings

by Bobbie23



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Post-Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobbie23/pseuds/Bobbie23
Summary: “Don’t think about taking the back stairs,” Phryne says, mostly to herself as she glances longingly in that direction while tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow.Jack looks baffled and slightly affronted by the implication that he would think of abandoning her at a time like this. “I wasn’t.”She pats his arm to calm him. “Well, I was.”
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 175





	Rude Awakenings

Phryne’s eyes flutter open as the duvet shifts across her body as her bedmate shuffles closer to curl his arm around her waist. She relaxes into Jack’s touch as his lips find her shoulder. His mouth is gentle and searching as he presses kisses along her shoulder, her collarbone. He breathes in, nuzzling her, and she feels his smile at the juncture of her neck. She cranes her throat and gives him better access to continue his ministrations. He huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling her, before carrying on, engaging his hand by drawing it to her stomach. His long fingers splay across her stomach, his thumb brushes the underside of her breast teasingly. She’s discovered exactly how talented he is with his fingers and mouth, much to her, more often than not screaming, delight. He’s a skilled pianist, his fingers dance over her the same way they do on the keys.

“Morning, Jack,” Phryne hums.

“Morning, Miss Fisher,” he says against her skin, deep and washing over her. Her chuckle transforms into a moan as he suckles on her pulse point.  


She arcs her body and reaches behind her to cup the back of his head to hold him to her, encouraging further exploration. As if he hasn’t spent most of their nights together acquainting himself with every inch of her. Jack has learnt her responses very quickly, taking her breath away with each discovery, physically and mentally and she feels devastatingly exposed when he’s looking at her in that way of his which sees right through her. In a way which makes her feel free. He’s never asked her for anything, never asked her to give anything up, never asked her to change. Jack didn’t crowd her; no matter if her actions scared him to his core, he let her be her. A point, she concedes to herself, she had a harder time accepting than he did.  


She’s known many men. But there’s never been any man who knows her as well as Jack does. And that used to terrify her.

Jack trails kisses along her neck. His muscled chest nestles against her back. His lips touch her jaw and she turns over in his embrace in time to capture his mouth. They meet in a gasp, their lips fitting together with ease and familiarity that formed quicker than she expected. Her body reacts to Jack’s feather-light touches, already whetted with anticipation after similar experiences when they’ve shared early mornings.

_‘Touch has a memory,’_ she remembers Jack reciting Keats to her last night as he peeled her clothes from her body.

Phryne winds her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to Jack as he settles over her, bracing himself on his forearms. Their bodies flush against each other, they sigh, as their foreheads meet briefly before Jack pecks her lips. Her eyes rake over his face, from his mussed hair to his square jaw, his eyes shining down at her, he looks utterly at home in her bed and she intends to keep him in it as long as possible.

They landed a week ago after solving the Maharaja’s murder and attending services honouring the dear man, she had tried to save by marrying him. She spent days consoling his mother and true love, trying to figure out what happened after she left. Jack never left her side unless it was to sleep. She had to keep up appearances as the grieving widow, which wasn’t a stretch. She was devastated by the death of her friend.

Jack seems to sense her melancholy as his hand skims the side of her torso. He cocks his head to the side in silent question. A small shake of her head is all the answer he needs. Phryne stretches her nose to slide against his affectionately in an Eskimo kiss, wondering once again how she has this man, how he has her heart. He leans back to kiss the tip of her nose fondly.

Phryne reaches up to capture his lips with hers, focusing on Jack’s reaction to her. His body settles against her without suffocating her and she feels all of him. His mouth moves away from hers and travels down her body till he’s about to capture her nipple between his lips when the sharp tap resounds through her room.

Jack rocks back his knees and pulls the covers across her before tugging any of it over himself to shield him. Phryne raises her eyebrow at him, holding her tongue at the pointlessness of it, knowing there’s only one other person in the house and Mr B wouldn’t dream of walking through her bedroom door. Dot had made that particular mistake with some of her previous lovers, so innocent and pure as she is, but she moved out after she married Hugh. Phryne knows they’re perfectly safe from an audience.

“Miss, I hate to interrupt but your Aunt is waiting for you downstairs,” comes Mr B’s informative, yet somewhat amused, tone. With all the propriety which comes with his experience, he would never speak out of turn, he judges gatherings and situations with ease and accuracy. He appears at just the right moment, with the just the right solution; food, good whisky or her pistol. He’s the perfect fit for her household. Especially when it comes to her aunt. One day she intends to task him with writing his memoirs, they’d be an entertaining read.

“With your parents.”

“We’ll be right there, Mr B,” she squeaks in a higher pitch than she cares for.

“I’ll supply them with tea in the dining room till you’re ready Miss Fisher,” Mr Butler calls back before retreating back down the stairs.

Phryne bolts up from the bed, throwing the covers off and dislodging Jack from his position between her still spread legs. She barely registers him on her peripheral as he scrambles after her in a blur of motion.

“I just left Father in England, what’s he doing back here?” She whispers fiercely as she rummages through her wardrobe for a suitable outfit easy to throw on yet still uphold under her mother’s scrutiny.

When she returns to her bedroom with clothes in her arms. She dumps them at the foot of her bed before discarding the sheet she dragged with her to the adjoining room, leaving her naked. Still ignoring Jack, she starts to pull on her chosen outfit. Her movements are swift though she takes care not to rip the fabric – Dot would never forgive her – though there’s less care than she would normally use when dressing. She’s dressed in moments, looking no less fashionable than expected. Burgundy slacks and a white blouse.

Phryne moves to her vanity to run a brush through her short hair to tidy it and make it look less like Jack has run his hands through it. Finally feeling somewhat prepared to face her parents, she looks over at Jack where he stands in all his glory staring at her in fascination. Fabulously proportioned, muscles, he doesn’t hide his scars nor shies away from her. Her eyes rake over him, inwardly chastising herself for feeling flummoxed instead of dragging him back into bed and finishing what they started before redressing calmly to greet her parents in a few hours.

Those thoughts lose to the idea of her parents being left unchaperoned.

“As much as I appreciate the view, Jack, we’re about to be invaded by someone who has a blatant disregard for boundaries.”

“I was wondering where you got it from,” Jack deadpans barely reacting when she narrows her eyes at him. He knows she loves it when he plays with her.

“Unless you wish to bare everything,” her gaze trails down his body, paying particular attention to one part of his anatomy to make her point. He sucks in his stomach. She licks her lips. She really is very lucky. “To my mother, you’ll want to get dressed. She has no respect for locked doors.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” he quips but reaches for the clothes she removed from his body the night before.

She returns her brush to its place on the dressing table as she spies the tie she managed to toss over the curve of the mirror last night when she relieved him of it. She takes one last look at her appearance as she swipes it from the frame, twisting it between her fingers as she advances on Jack as he buttons his shirt.

Jack tracks her movement, assessing her silently. Phryne sighs as she slips the tie under his collar, tying it before adjusting it to nestle in front of the top button. Her hands flatten over his shirt. He doesn’t offer platitudes to placate her, just quiet strength.

“We’ll face them together.” Jack’s strong timbre voice washes over her as she’s struck by his confidence. He steps back to shrug on his waistcoat and jacket. He holds the door for her leave before him. “It’s what we do best.”

“I don’t care what they think, Jack,” she assures him as his words spur her into action. She doesn’t, nothing they say will change the way she feels about Jack. By stepping out of her bedroom, she’s keenly aware of the statement they’re about to make and the expectations that go hand in hand with it. To her parents of all people. Her mother will adore Jack. Her father has a grudging respect for Jack. Prudence might be less understanding though she will never make things difficult for them. “I care about why they’re here.”

Phryne’s concerned with how they’re going to blow through her life this time. Her father was difficult enough and she had to put a lot of things on hold for him; her mother has meddling down to a fine art.

Jack doesn’t offer his own theories. Smart man. None of them will appease her.

“Don’t think about taking the back stairs,” Phryne says, mostly to herself as she glances longingly in that direction while tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow.

Jack looks baffled and slightly affronted by the implication that he would think of abandoning her at a time like this. “I wasn’t.”

She pats his arm to calm him. “Well, I was.”

Jack laughs and lets her go first as they file down the stairs.

“No matter which way we go, Aunt P will be waiting at the bottom step,” Phryne grumbles before altering her pitch to imitate her aunt, “’It’s awfully early for a house call, Inspector’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, I am so new to Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, I’m a little intimidated. My dad introduced to the series during isolation and I ended up binge-watching the entire three seasons on Netflix before the UK premiere of The Crypt of Tears. I loved every episode and this has been in my head since. I apologise if it’s completely OOC, I will back away with my hands held up in surrender. All mistakes are my own, this hasn’t been beta read. Any feedback would be lovely.


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